I’m Bad At Reading And Other Stuff…

I’ve been feeling kind of blank lately.  A general meh of the soul, if you will.  Whenever I sit down to write, I just wind up staring at a blank computer screen. A super cool, high definition computer screen, mind you, but a blank one, nonetheless.  So there I was staring away, thinking of how to kick start some mojo, when I remembered a quote from Bono where he is quoting John Lennon (that’s right, I like my quotes twice removed) saying that songwriting is sitting down with your guitar and opening a vein, and whatever comes out comes out.  Good idea. I think I’ll steal it.  There will be no guitar involved in this exercise, however, because 1.) I can’t write songs and 2.) I’m pretty sure my guitar, Virginia, is currently pissed at me because I’ve been neglecting her.  What are you gonna do?

Speaking of things I’ve been neglecting, I’m currently two years into a one year plan to read through the Bible for a class at church that ended a year ago.  I don’t read good.  I’m currently getting passed up by the class taking the course this year.  Now, I could say that I’m just taking my time to really absorb the material.  I could.  But that would be a lie.  And I’m pretty sure the Bible is against lying.  I think.  I haven’t gotten to that part yet.  I did, however, attend a church media conference a couple months ago in Dallas, a city with temperatures high enough to shatter glass but somehow not high enough to melt the $#&%-eating grin on Tony Romo’s face.  Where’s the justice in that?  Anyway, I spent most of my time sitting next to a bunch of computer nerds wondering if I should have gotten a degree in computer nerdery, because this liberal arts degree isn’t exactly working wonders at the moment.  All I know is that Heaven better be well supplied with Macs.  Because if not, those people are going to freak.  Hopefully, Steve Jobs is rectifying this situation as we speak.  Otherwise: riots.  I kept my Windows netbook in my bag for fear of getting jumped.  There’s no recovering from a computer nerd beat down.  Just pick up your non-iPhone cell phone and walk off into the sunset.  You’re done.

I used to be able to delude myself into thinking that I’m tough.  Not prison tough.  Sneaky tough.  Like, “Hey, I wasn’t really expecting much from that skinny, pasty kid, but then he punched me in the face and it kind of hurt. Kind of.”  I used to think that.  Then I went to a UFC event in New Orleans a couple weeks ago.  Never mind.  You know who’s A-OK with not being tough?  This guy.  Because if that’s tough, I’m tapping out.  There’s not enough Mountain Dew in the world to get me jacked up enough to get in the octagon.  I saw a guy get locked in a sleeper hold and refuse to tap out.  I guess he didn’t want to give his opponent the satisfaction of knowing that he made him submit, so he just went blue and lost consciousness.  Man’s game.  Aaron’s game is creating an Aaron-shaped hole in the wall of the octagon as I run through it, away from the psychopath in the Affliction t-shirt who just punched himself in the face to get psyched up to punch me in the face.  I’ll take a pass, thanks.  Besides, I can’t ogle Arianny if both my eyes are swollen shut.  Fact.  Of course, the Bible may be anti-ogling.  I’m not sure.  I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

That’s a funny word: ogle.  You know what else is a funny word?  Mulligan.  You know what’s not funny?  How many of them I needed the last time I played golf.  Yeah, I don’t exactly keep the USGA rules….or score.  There’s no need for mathematical proof that I suck.  You can just go ahead and accept that on faith.  Or sight.  Both will lead you to the same conclusion.  You know, I’m convinced that there will be no golf courses in Heaven.  You know how I know?  Because there’s not supposed to be any swearing in Heaven.  But if there are golf courses in Heaven, you know what else will be there?   Swearing.  And maybe murder.  But definitely swearing.

While we’re on swearing, football is here again, which means I’ll be spending my Sunday afternoons hurling expletives at the television.  It’s a lot like primal scream therapy, only with the chance to win money and a ridiculous trophy at the end.  And I would feel bad about spending all day watching/yelling at football games, but since my wife joined the fantasy football league, it’s actually turned into a bonding experience.  A bizarre, somewhat profanity laced bonding experience, but a bonding experience, nonetheless.  And, oddly enough, hearing my wife scream “KILL HIM!!!” is adorable in its own way.  Who knew?  At least she’s not yelling it about me.  Winning!  Now if I can just get her to stop stealing my t-shirts.  But that’s a battle for another day.  One battle I lost a long time ago was when I asked my parents if I could play football when I was a kid.  My dad didn’t care, but my mom absolutely refused to sign the permission slip.  So, sadly, no one will be drafting me for their fantasy teams.  However, given my above stated feelings about toughness, my mom may have actually saved my life.  Thanks, Mom.

All right, so what have we covered today in this little stream of consciousness exercise?  I’m not great at reading, fighting or golf; my wife has a little murder in her heart and steals my clothes; and my mom may have saved my life.  Wow, I am not good at things.  I immediately regret the decision to undertake this exercise.  Who knew opening a vein would yield blood?  Why wasn’t I informed of this?  I knew I should have paid attention in biology class.

On the plus side, though, I cut this out the back of my wife’s Cocoa Puffs.  So I’ve got that going for me.

The recession being what it is, Batman had to cut his wardrobe budget slightly.